


Years of Us

by slytherinxravenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Death, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Immortality, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Reincarnation, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinxravenclaw/pseuds/slytherinxravenclaw
Summary: Being immortal isn't all it's cracked up to be. For one thing, Draco can't see his face any more, for another the love of his life keeps dying, but Draco knows they'll always find each other. For the rest of time if necessary.





	1. curse breaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Treacletvrts on Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Treacletvrts+on+Tumblr).



> This story was inspired by Treacletvrts on Tumblr, I saw this post about an immortal Draco, Harry not being immortal and dying, reincarnating and not remembering Draco but naturally being obsessed and so I decided to give it a shot. Thank you so much for the inspiration, hope you see it and/or like it.  
> Needless to say all credit goes to JK Rowling for creating this amazing series.

Straight out of Hogwarts, his N.E.W.T.’s in hand, Draco had secured a lucrative job with Gringott’s as a Curse Breaker. The goblin’s cared little for politics and the fact that he had been a Death Eater meant next to nothing as far as they were concerned. It didn’t hurt that the goblins held little trust for the Ministry of Magic in general, and if hiring Draco wasn’t a small (albeit effective) dig at the Ministry, the blond couldn’t say he was particularly upset by it. The work was always challenging and Draco loved a challenge. Perhaps it was because of his upbringing that had surrounded much of the dark arts, but Draco was a natural in the curse breaking field. He _knew_ curses inside and out. How they moved, and twisted, the type of intricate spell work that went into ancient curses that could only be passed down these days by word of mouth. He lived and breathed their darkness, making him one of the top curse breakers at Gringott’s disposal, or the Ministry’s whenever they should call upon him. 

It was half past one in the morning, and the brisk October air swept across Draco’s face as he appeared on the outskirts of a Transylvanian forest. A group of wizards, calling themselves _The Immortal Ones_ had taken to kidnapping vampires in the hopes of discovering the magic that allowed their turn, and the Ministry had requested Draco, and several Aurors, including one Ronald Weasley, to capture them before they tortured any more vampires. Pulling out his wand, Draco approached the edge of the forest where the castle’s wards began and closed his eyes.

In his minds eye, he could see the anti-apparition spells, and several dark curses that would keep the aurors at bay, along with any muggles, should they approach. Silently, Draco flicked his wand, an angry red spark shot out of the tip, and connected with the edge of the wards, turning them a deep, angry black. Draco opened his eyes, giving his wand a twist, as it caught a snag in the wards and slowly began to unravel the string of curses.

Sweat beaded his brow as he worked, the aurors looked on not far behind him and tried to go over their plan of attack once they got inside. Gawain Robbards, the head auror stood a few feet away from Draco, with blueprints of the castle laying over a fallen tree trunk, as he and his men went over the plan.

“Several vampires are said to be locked in the castle’s dungeons,” Robbards said. “Once we’re inside, we’ll have to move fast. I want alpha team moving to the great hall and scoping the bottom floor, while the delta team will move to rescue the vampires.”

“They’ll be starving, “Draco said, not taking his eyes off the complicated spell work before him. Robbards eyed him but said nothing. Draco snorted. _Aurors,_ he thought. The Ministry may have grudgingly given up their hatred for Draco, at least on paper, but it was evident enough that the aurors still distrusted him despite his proven skills time and time again. “There were vampires at the manor,” he said after a moment, a hiss sounded from the tip of his wand as one of the curse’s snapped.

“Protego!” an auror yelled just as the edge of the curse came towards them. Draco smiled over his shoulder to find, none other than Ron Weasley with his wand outstretched, and a white shield of magic protecting the group including himself.

“Thanks for that,” Draco said.

“What about the vampires?” Weasley asked. Draco gave his wand a flick again and the curse vanished. Draco exhaled the breath he’d been holding and wiped his brow.

“Voldemort starved them to get them to their most primal instincts,” Draco said. “If the so-called Immortal Ones are anything like he was, and I suspect they are, they’ll have them starved to get them to their most primal and therefore their most lethal.”

Robbards clucked his tongue in response but otherwise said nothing. Ron gave Draco a small smile and went back to stand by the head Auror who was pointedly ignoring the blond. After a few moments, he finally cleared his throat and appeared behind Draco.

“You almost done here?” he barked. Draco would have glared if he could afford to look away from the intricate spell work he was currently engaged in, as it was he merely snorted, loud enough so that the head Auror would get the hint.

“Curse breaking takes time,” he said.

“We don’t _have_ time,” the head Auror bit out. Draco shivered as the wind blew across his skin again. He was nearly there, the rest of the curse would take, maybe an hour more, but Robbards didn’t need to know that, Draco decided. He didn’t work for the man after all, and it was clear that should the worst happen, Robbards had no trouble throwing Draco under the bus.

He had almost made it all the way through the curse when Draco realized something was wrong. This curse wasn’t fighting as much as they usually did. Draco raised an eyebrow, and paused, his wand hanging in the air as he listened to the wind.

Robbards barked something in his ear again but Draco barely heard him, he squinted.

“Get back!” Draco yelled. The wards exploded, knocking the six men off their feet. In an instant, several dozen wizards in black robes had appeared around the group, their wands pointed directly at them. The aurors were outnumbered. Draco leaped to his feet, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the dark wizards had cornered Weasley. Draco whipped his wand toward the wizard.

“Expel…” the words had barely escaped his lips before Draco’s wand flew out of his fingers and into the air. Draco growled. The dark wizard flicked his wand toward Weasley. A black pulse of light shot out the tip of the wand.

Moving fast, Draco ran and leap in front of it, taking the curse straight to the chest. Draco tumbled into the leaves flat onto his back. The wind knocked out of him. For a brief moment, Draco stared up at the starless night sky, as spells crashed all around him. Then the world went black.


	2. the healer

His whole body ached. Draco squinted a tentative eye open, as blinding white lights surrounded him burning into his retinas. Squinting against the sudden brightness, Draco forced himself to take in his surroundings. A hospital bed, to which he was currently chained, white antiseptic walls that stood before him. There were no windows in this room, he noted. Only the harsh, artificial light that came from above. Draco sat up quickly and regretted it almost instantly. The world swam around him, and he was forced to lay back against the pillows.

“Glad to see you’re still with us,” said an oddly familiar voice from his left. Draco turned his head slowly and gasped. There, in lime green healer robes, was none other than Harry Potter. Draco swallowed hard.

“I feel like a fate worse than death,” he said. Potter chuckled beside him and were Draco in better form, he might have attempted a glare in the brunette’s direction. As it was, Draco barely managed a passable sort of pout and a squint. “Why’s it so bloody bright in here?” he asked. His voice was raspy from disuse, and his throat felt dry and vaguely as though he’d been swallowing razor blades.

Potter pulled out his wand and flicked it, dimming the lights.

“Why’d you do it?” Potter asked after a moment. Finally able to adjust himself properly, Draco turned his head to the brunette and managed to raise a single eyebrow, though it was dreadfully painful to do so. “You jumped in front of that curse for Ron,” Potter added.

“Oh, that,” Draco waved him off.

“Yes, that!” Potter snapped. “Why?”

Draco considered the question that had been posed to him and realized that he didn’t really know. He would never admit, even to himself, that perhaps a small part of him had done it for Potter. It was absurd of course, but the golden boy had saved his life plenty of times, and he supposed he owed it to the other man to save his friend at least once.

“What did it do?” Draco asked. Potter swallowed hard under Draco’s piercing stare. There was a loud sort of rushing sound in Draco’s ears, and a soft thudding that he instinctively recognized was a heartbeat, and that he _knew_ was not his own. Draco would have laughed, only he did not find the situation in the least bit funny.He realized, somewhat in the back of his mind, that Potter had not been standing exactly close to his bed, and it registered now _why_ the other man had been so cautious. “I think I can guess,” Draco answered for himself after a moment. Faintly, he could smell something intensely sweet in the air, like Treacle and the most expensive chocolate. _Potter’s blood,_ his mind supplied for him.

“Auror Robbards said you were the only one hit, but that you saved Ron’s life,” Harry said, after too long a moment. “They’re offering you the Order of Merlin,” he added. Draco snorted.

“And all I had to do was die,” Draco noted bitterly. Potter laughed, the bastard, and Draco would have glared, but he could taste the race of endorphins in Poter’s laugh, and he felt his mouth water. It was an intoxicating mixture, one that Draco had never before even thought of. He swallowed back his sudden intense thirst and tried to get himself under control. “So, does St. Mungo’s have a policy about donating blood to vampires?” Draco asked.

Potter frowned, and once more Draco knew the answer. Hospitals didn’t make a habit of giving blood to vampires, they could hardly afford that kind of dip into their supply, there were potion supplements of course, Draco had seen Severus make some in secret for the vampires at the manor but it would never be enough. Eventually, the hunger would become such that the vampire would become feral, and always deadly. Draco swallowed hard.

The smell was suddenly stronger, Draco noted, and he turned just in time to see Potter take a careful step forward. “What are you doing?” he asked, trying not to sound like a starving man that had just been offered a bountiful feast.

Harry stared at the blond, unwavering as he took another careful step forward. The scent of Harry’s blood grew stronger, and Draco felt sharp fangs poking into his bottom lip suddenly. “Potter,” he hissed around them. He sounded sort of ridiculous and were he not suddenly certain if the brunette took a step closer he would devour him, Draco might have laughed at his lisp.

“You need to eat,” Harry said simply, as though it were the most logical thing in the world. Draco eyed him, warily, as Harry took another step closer. Draco turned his head away, he didn’t trust himself in the other man's presence. Draco had never had especially strong will power when it came to Harry Potter, and the offer of himself like this was too much. He could feel stinging in his eyes that he suspected, if he could cry, he would have, only he was pretty sure he had never seen a vampire cry, which he supposed meant it was merely a reflex from his former life.

The thumping of Harry's heart grew incessant in his ears, calling out to him like a siren song. The smell and the sound taunting him, almost begging him, _taste me,_ they hissed. Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself shaking as he willed himself not to move. Not to do a thing, when he felt a warm hand press against his back. In a flash, Draco had leapt out of the bed, the chains falling to the floor with a loud rattle, and pinned Potter to the ground, his eyes a deep blood red, as he pressed his nose against the brunette’s neck and inhaled deep.

Harry swallowed, his heart racing as Draco leered down at him. Before either one knew what was happening, Draco’s teeth sank into Harry’s jugular.

Draco’s mind swam as the first taste of blood crossed his lips and tongue. It was divine, more so than he ever could have imagined. Potter’s blood was impossibly sweet and the touch of magic he could taste mixed in made it oh so intoxicating. Faintly, the last remnants of his humanity clicked in that this was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, he was attempting to drain, and Draco pulled off with some amount of effort, and licked the wound on Harry’s neck. The two small holes healed in a flash from the touch of vampire venom that had cauterized them, and Harry shuddered as he looked up at Draco, his eyes blown. Faintly Draco could still hear the other man’s heartbeat in his ears, but there was something different about it. Something he couldn’t quite place, but that felt distinctly erotic. Draco pushed himself up off the floor, and held a hand out for the other man, who continued merely to stare at him.

Draco was suddenly self conscious. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Sorry about that.”

Harry merely shook his head, “I…” he breathed. “Is it always that…” he trailed off.

“Erotic?” Draco asked, his eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips, then down to the healer robes which he noticed now had a distinct outline of something he suspected was not the other man’s wand. Draco grinned.

As far as Draco knew, the whole vampire’s allure that would bewitch an unsuspecting human was, merely an old wives tale, much like garlic and crosses, and to a certain extent, sunlight. It was true, vampires worked best at night, but only because their increased visual perception made sunlight, exceptionally bright and painful for them. The arousal aspect of the vampire’s touch was, Draco had suspected, more to do with the individual vampire themselves, and/or, the near death element of it all that, against all odds, seemed to heighten arousal for certain people. The vampire fetish was not entirely uncommon in the wizarding world, and though he had never frequented one, Draco was well aware that certain clubs existed in Knockturn Alley where one could have a near deadly erotic encounter with a vampire for several thousand Galleons.

Harry nodded despite himself, shoving his hands into his pockets in what he hoped was a subtle attempt to adjust the sudden tenting in his robes. Draco did not miss this however, and he chuckled in spite of himself.

“For some,” he replied. Harry frowned at that but otherwise said nothing. Draco stretched, feeling now, considerably better than he had moments earlier, Harry’s heartbeat had quieted, Draco realized, only to start back up again rather wildly, as a small patch of Draco’s pale skin was exposed from beneath his shirt as he stretched. Harry swallowed visibly as Draco merely grinned. “Did you know you have the most melodic heartbeat?” Draco said. _Where the bloody hell did that come from?_ He wondered. He had never taken the time to _listen_ to anyone else’s heart and he wondered if they didn’t all sound the same.

Harry swallowed again, and Draco watched the movement, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple and the slight twitch of the vein that Draco had been lapping at moments earlier.

“I… you should probably get back into bed Malfoy,” Harry said, his voice sounded odd to his own ears and Harry realized he sounded incredibly aroused. He groaned at himself, as the blond acquiesced and slipped back onto the bed.

“You’ve got me into bed,” Draco said with a smile. “Now what?”

Harry might have laughed, were he not so incredibly turned on right now. The situation struck him as  _wildly_ unprofessional, but his desire to claim the vampire and devour him was suddenly almost overwhelming. Shaking his head, Harry did his best to put on his most professional healer face as he said, “We’ll need to keep you for a few days, to make sure there are no residual side effects from the curse."

Draco smiled. “You can keep me as long as you want Healer Potter.” Harry gave a strangled sort of moan at that. His face burned scarlet, and he turned and ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him, and disappeared out of the blonde’s room. Mortified.

Almost a week later, Draco was released from St. Mungo’s and Healer Potter’s care, Draco was almost sad to be leaving, to be getting back to his old life, he snorted, _well, mostly back._ He had politely told the Ministry to stuff their Order of Merlin, even if he was the first vampire to ever receive one. What the hell did he need an award from them now for anyway? They had actively hated his guts for the last five years, and the thought that they would suddenly change their ways now seemed dubious to him at best.

“Well you’re looking considerably better,” Harry said on the morning he was to sign Draco’s release forms. Draco was standing near the bathroom, frowning at the blank mirror that sat several feet from him.

“Of course I do Potter, I’m me,” Draco said as he turned around. The first real downside to immortality had shown it’s ugly face.

Harry laughed, and Draco merely shrugged.

“Well, you’re all good to go gorgeous,” Harry said nonchalantly. Draco smirked.

“Great. Now that you’re not my healer anymore, I can finally ask you out for dinner like I’ve been wanting to for a week,” Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that, and Draco had to admit, he was impressed.

“Dinner? Me?” Harry forced himself not to state the obvious that Draco wouldn’t _need_ to eat.

“Yes, dinner. And I was rather hoping to save _you_ for dessert,” he said. “Steak I think would be a good main course. Full of iron and all that.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt himself blush scarlet at Draco’s words of him being dessert. “Why?” he suddenly found himself asking. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry?”

“I just mean… why would you want to have dinner with me?” Harry asked.

Draco considered his answer carefully, somewhere the back of his mind screamed, _because you smell delicious and you taste like the sweetest chocolate creme_ , but he supposed that sounded rather disgusting even to him, or at least, depraved, so he opted instead on a more low-key version of that.

“I’ve enjoyed being in your care,” Draco admitted. “And I’d like to spend more time with you,” it was, perhaps a bit more daring than Draco would have liked, but that was the funny thing about being immortal, a lot of the things that Draco might have feared before suddenly didn’t seem to matter much. Perhaps it was his lack of heartbeat that contributed to what he assumed was a lack of anxiety (and wasn’t that just the icing on the cake of the better aspects of immortality?) Harry smiled, a dazzling sort of smile that Draco was certain would have taken his breath away were he still in need of breathing.

“Alright,” he said. “You’re on.”

Draco grinned. “You won’t regret it.”


	3. the vampire's curse

The next decade moved surprisingly quickly for Draco, not that he had aged through any of it. He had almostforgotten his predicament and what he was, when reality slapped him across the face with the passing of his mother, just after his 35th birthday. The witch had been in well enough health, though the two hadn't seen much of one another after she and Lucius had run to France. She was barely 52.  

Draco was inconsolable. It was a small funeral, just Draco, Harry, and Ron and Hermione. The unshed tears, stung at the corners of his eyes as he watched his mother be lowered into the ground.  _Everyone around you will die,_ he realized quite suddenly.  _You will be all alone._ His throat clenched at the thought and his mind reeled. He wanted to run,  _needed_ to run. Get as far away from Harry and the Weasley's and any of his friends as possible, he could hardly bear the thought of outliving them all. But he couldn't. The thought of leaving Harry now, of giving up what they had was a pain to strong to bare he decided. _The future could wait,_ and he would do his best not to think about it until then, he promised himself, as Harry rested his hand on Draco's lower back. The gesture grounding Draco in the present and impossibly making his fear grow ever stronger. As he watched his mother's body lowered into the ground, Draco could see in his mind's eye, the inevitable future of lowering Harry into the ground one day. 

His stomach lurched, and he vomited blood all over the ground before him. 

 

***

A month later found Draco and Harry sharing a quiet evening in his bed at the Manor. It had never really been a discussion where the two would live, Malfoy Manor was Draco's ancestral home and with his parents no longer occupying it, Harry had been happy to move into the Manor, provided Draco make some changes. Draco had been happy to oblige his husband, even going so far as to have something called whyfye (or at least that's what it sounded like) installed. Much to the consternation of multiple Malfoy family portraits. Even Severus's portrait had found the modernization of Malfoy Manor, ghastly, and Draco had wondered if perhaps he had gone too far. Then Harry had handed him a Kindle and Draco had found himself falling down the rabbit hole of the internet, and muggle technology. 

"Draco?" Harry said suddenly, pulling Draco out of his latest obsession, mystery novels. 

"Hmm?" Draco replied, not looking up from the Kindle he was staring at intently. Harry smiled at his husband, as he took his hand and leaned in closer to him. 

"Let's have a baby," he said. That did it. Draco's eyes widened, and he turned the Kindle off, and deposited it on the nightstand, turning to face his husband. 

"Harry," he said. "We've talked about this." The two  _had_ talked about it, increasingly so over the last few years particularly, and Draco had always begged for them to be able to be selfish for a little while longer. 

"I know, and I love that it's just the two of us but..." Harry trailed off, apparently lost in thought, and Draco sighed, he  _knew_ that never in a million years would he be able to deny his husband this. It was inevitable of course, Harry had always wanted children, and now that they were nearing 40, Draco knew that he could not deny his husband any longer. He sighed _Bugger._ Draco was fairly certain that no matter the spell or potion they would never be able to conceive though, it  _was_ Harry Potter he was talking about and he supposed if anyone could make the impossible possible, it was the boy who lived twice. Conception was hardly Draco's biggest worry, however. Beyond wondering if the vampire gene could be passed on, he realized that if it hadn't, he would inevitably have to bury his own children one day too. And that was enough to make Draco sick to his stomach. 

"Alright," Draco said, after a long moment. He had never been good at denying Harry Potter anything, and before he could change his mind, Draco found himself agreeing to adopt before he could think better of it. 

Five years later, Harry popped the question. “Will you turn me?” Draco dropped the champagne bottle he’d been holding for their anniversary party and stormed out of the room.

Harry frowned at the spot where his husband had previously been standing. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances at that. 

"I'll go talk to him," Pansy said stalking after her best friend, into the other room. 

“He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for!” Draco yelled as Pansy entered the drawing room. His eyes burned again and not for the first time, Draco wished he could cry.

“How are you going to go on without him?” Pansy asked. “I know you Draco. I know you think about it constantly. I know it keeps you up at night.”

“Being a vampire keeps me up at night Pansy, I don’t sleep.” It had made Draco impossibly more productive at work, though he hardly needed to do so.

“You know what I mean,” she said. Draco sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“I can’t do that to him. It would be selfish to keep him alive. To make him watch those he loved die. What am I supposed to do? Turn the kids? Turn Granger and the Weasel? Hell, all the Weasels? He’s seen _so_ much death, Pansy. I know him. He’d never forgive himself if he lived forever while all around him his friends died.”

Pansy nodded solemnly. Though Harry never knew the reason for his husband's anger, he didn’t bring the subject up again.

 

***

It was nearing their 50th birthday when Draco looked across the kitchen table at his husband and realized that Harry was beginning to look his age. His face had several small wrinkles, and his hair was now very grey. It was also at this moment that Draco realized, it was incredibly sexy. Harry was still quite fit for a middle-aged former healer, and even his very small pot belly was not enough to stop the still insatiable vampire from sitting in his lap at any available opportunity. 

“Have I ever told you how hot you are?” Draco said quite suddenly as he folded the paper.

“Says the fifty year old, currently inhabiting the body of a twenty-five year old,” Harry remarked from behind the sports section of the Prophet.

“I’m starting to think I might have a thing for older men,” Draco noted, as he leered across the table at his husband. Harry snorted.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

Draco grinned as he stood up and made his way over to the other man, and sat soundly in Harry’s lap. Harry grimaced, and Draco made to stand, when Harry wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist. “Just a little joint pain,” Harry said. Years of working as a healer had been killer on his knees, Draco knew.

“Want me to brew you a pain potion?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head and buried his face in Draco’s neck, and gave it a rough bite. Draco moaned, arching up into Harry's lips, even after all these years, Harry still knew how to make Draco writhe beneath him. 

 

**

The decades moved exceedingly slowly for Draco. It had seemed like only yesterday they were seeing their youngest, Jason off to Hogwarts, and now the boy was married with his own children off at Hogwarts. Harry and Draco were nearing their seventies and Harry rarely liked to venture out into the world with Draco on his arm these days, his hair had grown thin and balding, and his wrinkles had only gotten more apparent, and Harry thought they looked absolutely preposterous whenever they stood near each other. 

“Come on love, we’re taking the grandkids to Diagon,” Draco said. He paused, “Damn. Grandkids?” he suddenly felt very old.

Harry shook his head. “You go without me, arthritis is kicking up,” he lied.

Draco produced a yellow vial from his pocket, “Good thing I brought this then, eh?” he asked. Draco _knew_ his husband better than that. “Come on hon. Diagon is always fun. Besides, think of how entertaining it will be when someone stares at us while we make out at Fortiscue's like a couple of horny teenagers,” Draco purred with a smirk. Harry laughed in spite of himself, the thought of his still dashing twenty-something husband all but sitting in the lap of his seventy-year-old husband was absurd, but Draco preened in the attention. Occasionally there would be lewd comments, or otherwise snickering about how Draco was merely a gold-digger trying to go after his wealthy older husband's money. On more than one occasion, Draco had been confused for Harry's grandchild, whenever they were out. Draco would grin, turn to his husband, and kiss him hard on the lips, much to the absolute horror of whoever had incorrectly assumed their relationship. 

"We're a very close family," he had once said with a wink, to a Muggle hotel manager while on holiday. Harry had merely shaken his head, at his husband's antics, blushing furiously as the hotel staff stared at Draco's retreating form. 

“You’re incorrigible," Harry said as Draco leaned down to kiss his husband's lips. 

“You love it,” Draco replied.

Harry sighed happily. He did. He _absolutely did._

 

***

As they rounded 90 Draco found himself more and more restless. Harry’s health had been exceptional, but the last few months had been rocky, and Draco suspected it would only be a matter of time. He was lucky, he supposed, he’d had this long with the other man. But increasingly the reality that he would soon be living without the only man he had ever loved was starting to turn Draco’s stomach into knots.

“You’re not eating,” Harry said knowingly. His voice was hoarse, Draco sighed.

“Not hungry,” Draco lied. Even at 90, Harry’s blood called out to him. _Sang_ to him. _Taste me. Touch me. Drink me._ Draco didn’t dare.

“Draco,” Harry said as he turned to face his ageless husband. “My beautiful dragon,” Draco felt the burning sensation in his eyes again at the nickname. “We don’t have much time left,” Harry cupped his face, and Draco felt himself sag against the other man.

“Please don’t say that,” he begged.

“I want you to move on,” Harry said. Draco’s eyes snapped up at that, he shook his head.

“Harry no. No no.”

Harry smiled, “Harry yes,” he said. Draco would have laughed, but he was certain his heart was shattering at that moment. “You have been the greatest gift I could have ever asked for. But I cannot let you hold yourself back for me,” he said.

Draco held onto the wrinkled hand on his face, “Harry,” he whispered. Harry’s heartbeat was slowing, he realized. He could hear the thumps coming further and further apart. 

“Promise me, that you’ll love again,” Harry said.

Draco swallowed hard, as he felt Harry’s heart trembling. “I promise,” he said. Harry gave him a solemn smile and just like that, he was gone.

Draco held tightly to his husband’s hand, cold droplets, streaming down his face, the tears of blood he never knew were possible falling. His throat clenched, and his heart shattered into a million more tiny pieces. It was then, as he faced his worst nightmare at last, that Draco desperately wished to be staked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was by far the hardest chapter to write. I had to decide how long I wanted to make the story overall, a long epic (which I considered) or a more modest novella type length. This is by no means the end, but I wanted to get to the crux of the angst so I opted to use a bit of scene jumping since technically this story spans a few hundred years.


	4. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the angst! THE ANGST! Honestly I would hate Treacletvrts for making me do this, but I've done it to myself because I could not NOT write this story. Poor Draco.

Draco poured himself into his work. Despite his promise to his husband, Draco knew that no man would ever be able to replace Harry in his heart. They had known one another too long, been through too much, for Draco to find anyone else now. Harry had been his soulmate, there was no doubt in his mind about that. It would be a betrayal to his memory to take up with another, so instead, he married his career. 

As he reached his 105th birthday, Draco decided it was time to move on from his career, and more importantly from London. 

“I’m handing in my letter of resignation,” Draco said to the goblin. “Effective immediately.” He had given Gringotts far longer than any employee ever could have, and he had been more of an asset to them even after all this time than anyone could ever hope to be. The goblin, Draco had stopped bothering to remember names, he’d been through so many bosses over the last eighty years it hardly seemed worth it, frowned up at him.

“We’ll be sorry to see you go,” he said. Draco supposed that was probably true. It had been eighty years since the war now, and though curse breaking was still as necessary as ever (the dark arts it seems never takes a holiday), Draco found himself less invested in the endeavor than he previously had been. The last decade without Harry had been the hardest and longest of his life, and Draco knew that part of it was the fact that he had remained in their house in an effort to stay close to the other man. It had been hell on his mental health and he knew if he didn't leave now he'd have to check himself into the Janus Thickey ward. 

“Thank you,” Draco said, and turned on his heel. As he walked out of Gringotts, he wondered vaguely where in the world he might go now. The Malfoy’s still had many estates throughout the continent, and he and Harry had a few houses of their own in various areas. But, he thought, he needed some time away from Europe for a little while. Which is how Draco found himself living in the penthouse suite of a Manhattan high rise.

Much had changed in Wizard and Muggle relations over the past century. The lines were beginning to blur, as muggle technology became more and more every day like magic, and as wizards became more and more commonplace, the United Wizengamot (which included the British Ministry of Magic, MACUSA, and various European, and global Wizarding Ministries) had increasingly debated whether or not to finally remove the Statue of Secrecy and reveal to the muggle public the existence of witches and wizards. It was, Draco thought, a monumentally stupid idea. He may not have held the same prejudices he had a century earlier, but Draco was not foolish enough to assume that the muggles were in anyway prepared for the realities of magic. Once upon a happier time, Draco had considered joining the ranks of the Wizengamot or even now, MACUSA, but he realized that, unlike his father, Draco _loathed_ politics, and the thought of doing what was expected of him after all this time suddenly seemed ludicrous. And he opted instead to pen his memoirs, in the form of novels.  _The Adventures of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy_ , or at least, this was the working title. He found that writing could _almost_ ease the pain, of missing his beloved, and in any case, building his husband in his own image, through his words was enough to make Draco feel almost hopeful again. Like some part of Potter was still alive. It was cathartic, and for the first time in a decade since he'd been turned Draco didn't fall asleep with tears in his eyes, wishing for death. 

 

* * *

The following decade moved more quickly than the last. Draco’s books of him and Harry (the Savior and Sinner Chronicles) had become quite popular with muggle and wizard readers alike, and soon Draco found himself traveling to Los Angeles to meet with film producers about the possibility of turning Draco’s novels into a series of films.

“We _really_ like the project,” a sandy blonde haired director, named Chad said. He looked, Draco noted, everything and nothing like Draco predicted a director from Hollywood would. He was tan and blonde sure, but he was also better educated than Draco had anticipated, and despite the now classic, Muggle films he’d seen with Harry once upon a time, he didn’t possess that drugged out, surfer voice that Draco had come to expect. He was almost disappointed.

“Thank you,” Draco replied.

“I’ve always wanted to know… where do you come up with your ideas? They’re so original, and they feel so... real” he said. Draco smiled wistfully. Part of his agreement with MACUSA and the United Wizengamot, that had allowed him to write these books was that he was _never_ to tell the Muggles it had been true. Draco shrugged. “Just… writing about a better life, I guess,” he said. This was, more true than he supposed he normally would have given anyone. Not that Draco did much in the way of press. As it turned out, Muggles _loved_ a mysterious, brooding sort of author, and as a 115-year-old vampire who still looked twenty-five, and had lost the love of his life, Draco _knew_ brooding. Though he supposed this was as much a Slytherin trait as it was an immortal one. 

“Rad,” the man said. Draco laughed behind his hand. _There it is,_ he thought happily. The contract was signed a few days later, and Draco had been brought on as a writer for the show and an executive producer. He had been very clear that under no circumstances was the show to be changed nor was the love story. 'That was', the director had told him, 'the entire reason the production company had picked up the film.' 

A few months later, Draco had been called in to join the casting session for his character (aptly named Drake) and Harry’s, Draco had struggled to come up with a name for his husband, and had eventually settled on his middle name, James. Though for the life of him he had never fully been satsified with the choice. 

“I’d love to see you screen test,” the director said, as they were preparing to audition for the role of James. Draco eyed the director.

“Me?”

The director nodded, “We just wanna see how the chemistry works with you as Drake. I mean it's obviously you, right?” he said. Draco frowned, time and time again Draco had been asked if Drake was based on him, and time and time again, Draco had denied it. 'It's fantasy' he always said. But the truth of the matter was Draco had barely even bothered hiding his own characteristics from Drake, and despite all the bad things he had done, like breaking Jame's nose in sixth year, or belittling his friends, and eventually taking the mark, there was always a tinge of sympathy for Drake's character in the stories. There was always, just a hint of compassion, of the  _real_ Drake, who was just a child seeking his father's love. Who would do anything to protect his family. Though Draco had always been honest in his portrayal of what he had done, it hadn't stopped him from providing context that might make himself look a touch more sympathetic than he felt he often deserved. Still, Draco shook his head. He could not admit that Drake was based on himself. 

"I've never acted before," he admitted, though he hardly needed to. It _had_ been his life after all. The director merely smiled at him. 

"I'm sure you can handle it. Just... give it a try. If nothing else, it'll help our James so he's not just talking to himself," the man suggested. Draco nodded, and stepped in front of the blue screen, as the director called in the first actor. Draco scrutinized the man, he was too tall for one thing, and a bit too narrow, he might have passed for Potter at 13, but never Potter just before the war. He looked at the director, he didn’t _need_ to test this one. He was _not_ Potter.

The director frowned, and mouthed, _just let him try_. Draco glared at the sandy blond haired man but shrugged. The studio had given him a lot of rights thus far, far more than most would ever get. Taking a deep breath, he thought back to the person he'd been so long ago, allowing the familiar Malfoy sneer onto his face. “Potter,” he drawled, with his familiar posh accent. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare? Oh, that’s right…” The auburn haired man stared nervously at Draco.

“I…” he stammered. Draco sighed. “Malf...erm Black!” he said. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna stop your right there,” Draco cut him off holding up a hand. “Firstly you need to give it some backbone. And spite! We’re enemies! I’ve spent years making your life hell, and then I make a joke about your dead parents. You’re angry!”

The auburn haired man merely looked somewhat scared, and Draco shook his head at the director and mouthed,  _hopeless._ Draco rather missed this side of himself he realized. Years of being married to Harry Potter had softened him, and he'd somehow managed to become an impossibly decent (or rather decent for a Malfoy) human being who did not regularly make a habit of ripping people's heads off, or glaring daggers at them in a way that might make them faint, or otherwise lose control of their bladders in sheer terror. The young man in question looked prepared to do both and honestly it sent a thrill down Draco's spine that he hadn't felt in ages.  _Harry would not approve,_ he thought. 

“Right, alright. You may go,” the director said. The auburn haired young man frowned, but nodded and took off out the door as Draco prepared for what would undoubtedly be a long day.

Six hours, and _far_ too many dead ends later, Draco was ready to give up hope. He was not a quitter  _Slytherin's don't quit_ after all, but they also knew a lost cause when they saw one, and after what had felt like every wannabe actor in Hollywood had come and gone, Draco was starting to feel as though they were beyond a lost cause, “Let’s just call it a day,” he said morosely, as he polished off the last of his coffee, a new current obsession which he may or may not have slipped blood into. The director sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands when the door to the casting room burst open, and a raven-haired young man stepped into the room, looking for all the world both like he owned the place, and impossibly sheepish. Draco’s eyes widened.

“S—sorry I’m late,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble at the port key office,” the raven-haired man said. Draco leaped out of his chair as he ran over to the other man, “P-Potter?” he said, he could feel the prickling in his eyes, as he stared at the emerald green eyes that looked so familiar. Even his face looked impossibly the same, he felt like he might throw up, though he couldn’t and then he saw it. A faint, jagged scar that looked as though it could be in the shape of a lightning bolt just above his left eye. Draco gasped, clasping his hand to his mouth.

“What do you want?” the raven-haired man demanded without missing a beat.

Draco merely stared, his eyes wide. “I see your hair is just as dreadful as always,” he snapped back.

The other man snorted, “I see you're a poncy git as always!” Draco could have swooned. He turned, his whole body shaking as he stared at the director.

“I think we have a winner,” the director said with a smile. The brunette grinned, and high fived Draco.

“I’m Henry by the way,” the man, Henry said as he held out his hand to the blonde. Draco stared at it for a long moment, his mind flashed with the memory of his own hand outstretched towards Harry all those years ago. His heart clenched as he took the brunette’s hand.

“Draco, Draco Malfoy,” he replied, with a nervous sort of smile.

The director grinned as he clapped both boys on the shoulder, in a manner that reminded Draco vaguely of Slughorn, he snorted at the thought,“Cast our two leading men in one day. What an accomplishment,” he said excitedly

Draco stared at the director. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nobody knows Drake like you do. I _knew_ you’d play him perfectly.”

Draco shook his head, “No no… I couldn’t possibly.”

Henry eyed him, “I don’t know. He doesn’t really _look_ like Drake and he doesn’t really scream my future husband to me. Isn't Drake supposed to wear like black capes and look all brooding and morose?” Draco stared mouth agape at the other man. 

"They're called cloaks, you cretin, and I am neither brooding or morose. I'm a vampire! And you will bloody well remember your place Potter!" he snapped. 

Henry grinned, "There's my husband," he said kissing Draco on the cheek. Draco's eyes widened, and he felt his cheeks stain with pink. 

“Good good. Keep up the animosity. It can only help your onscreen dynamic,” the director said with a wink, as he turned to leave. Draco merely stared after the director, then turned nervously toward the other man.

“Bloody hell,” Draco swallowed hard as the piercing emerald gaze he’d come to miss so much stared right at him. His eyes trailed down to Henry’s lips, and he longed to feel them against his own. For a brief moment, Draco listened for the telltale sound of the heartbeat Draco was certain he would know anywhere. He had learned a century ago that heartbeats were, to a vampire anyway, like fingerprints. No two sounded alike, and Harry’s was uniquely melodic. He had learned to turn off the sounds and smells that taunted him, the older he got, but as he allowed his vampiric senses to take over, and listened to Henry’s heart he could almost feel his own clench in anticipation.

Draco swallowed. _It can’t be,_ he thought as he shook his head. The brunette’s eyes never left his, and for a brief moment, Draco wondered if he knew. Their chemistry was undeniable, Draco thought, but he was certain that he could never do this. Staring into those eyes every day, looking into the face that looked so much like Harry's and having to pretend that it was him all the while knowing it would never be the same would only destroy Draco in the end. 

“I have to go,” Draco said suddenly and walked as fast as he could out of the room. He could hear the other man's feet moving behind him, though he didn’t speak. _Promise me you’ll move on,_ Harry’s last words echoed in his ears, he shook his head, as cold bloody tears dripped down his face. He shook his head. _Twenty years was much too soon,_ he thought. He disappeared behind a curtain and apparated away back to his flat in LA. 

Henry stared at the place where he was certain the other man had ducked behind, only there was no sign of him. Henry frowned. The moment he had walked onto the set, Henry had known two things. Draco Malfoy was the most beautiful man he had ever seen, and he needed to get to know him. 


	5. old habits

_He’s watching me again,_ Draco thought, as he stood by the craft services table. It was their second week on set, and Draco had caught Henry watching him no less than a dozen times over the course of the last two weeks. At first, he had convinced himself that the other man was merely trying to get better into his character, _appropriate given Harry’s rather unhealthy obsession with me in 6th year,_ Draco thought. Only this didn’t _feel_ like acting. It felt far too familiar to be comfortable, and Draco had tried, on no less than six occasions, both to evade the other man and on more than one to beg the director to reconsider his instance that Draco was the only one who could play the role of Drake.

“Not a chance,” the director had said."It took me six weeks just to get you to agree to it!"

Draco sighed, and picked up a candy bar and disappeared.

As it turned out, working in close proximity to a man who looked, and sounded, and smelled like Harry Potter, was starting to fray Draco’s nerves. It was difficult to concentrate, and given that his performances had felt floundering at best, Draco was _certain_ he’d be sacked within the month. _Failing at acting as yourself, pull it together Malfoy!_ He chastised. He knew Harry would laugh at him, tease him, and _god_ how he missed his teasing. His smile. His lips. His blood. Draco licked his lips as he snuck into the bathroom and ate his candy bar, hiding in the stall.

This too had become something of a ritual. Sneaking away into the bathroom to eat candy, and sobbing. His desire to clutch Henry tight to himself was becoming overwhelming and it was not unusual for Draco to sob himself to a sort of sleep he’d trained himself to take at night.

As the month ended, Draco had gotten considerably better at playing himself, _thank Salazar,_ he thought.

Henry gave him an odd sort of smile and Draco raised an eyebrow at him (as was his way), “Today’s the big day,” Henry said.

Draco’s eyes lowered, "Pardon?"

“Our first kiss of course,” Henry said. Draco’s eyes widened, as he grabbed the script that was dangling idly in a PA’s hand. Draco gasped and tore off in the direction of the bathrooms. He had managed, against all odds not to succumb to Henry’s charms, and his intoxicating scent and now they were meant to kiss and Draco was _certain_ he could not handle it much longer. Storming into the bathroom, Draco clutched the sink and stared idly at where his reflection should have been, as tears started to well up in his eyes.

The door opened, and from the mirror, Draco could see Henry, standing at the door, it was all too much. Too familiar, it felt all at once like coming home, and Draco considered pulling out his wand, only he was not sure if Henry was a muggle. And then Henry crossed the room towards him and before Draco could stop it, the brunette had tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair and pulled the taller man down towards him, and kissed him.

Draco’s heart sang. Even his lips tasted the same, he noted faintly as the other man kissed him, pressing him firmly up against the skin, Draco arched into the kiss, chasing the brunette’s lips with his tongue, when he felt the other man’s knee slip between his legs to separate them, Draco panicked.

“Oh god,” he pulled himself away, placing his hand on Henry’s chest. His heart was racing and Draco could see his pupils were blown, just like Potter’s had been when they had first kissed. When Draco had first fed from his blood. The smell was almost overwhelming, he realized, but Draco _couldn’t._ He couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry,” Draco said. “I can’t,” he held up his hand to show off the antique diamond wedding band he still wore.

“Oh, I… didn’t know you were married,” Henry said with a frown.

Before he could stop himself, Draco corrected, “Widowed, actually.” Henry eyed him.

“At your age?”

Draco snorted. “I’m older than I look,” he said.

“Yeah right, what are you. Twenty?” Draco eyed him, if Henry had noticed his lack of reflection he didn’t comment on it.

“Try, a hundred and twenty,” Draco said dryly.

Henry laughed. “You’re weird Malfoy,” Draco’s heart clenched at hearing Harry’s laugh, and Harry calling him Malfoy again, and he wanted desperately to taste his lips one more time. But he couldn’t.

“I should go,” he said, leaving the bathroom before the other man could protest.

The next day, Draco called in sick to set. He wasn’t sure what the official rules were, but he was certain that they would find a way to manage without him.

Unfortunately for Draco, this was very much not the case. Being the lead actor on a film meant that his director had made a habit of hounding him daily any time he called in sick. Worse still, Henry, in true Potter fashion, had somehow _found_ his flat in L.A. and had begun making a habit of checking in on him. Draco would have found the whole thing absurdly hilarious, were it not devastatingly familiar. 

It was nearing noon, and Draco had barely dragged himself out of bed, when he heard his front door open. Draco snorted, he briefly considered taking out his wand, but then he remembered he wasn’t going anywhere, and though he suspected being shot might be _really_ painful, it would hardly kill him. Unless they had a wooden stake which not for the first time, Draco found himself wishing for. At least he could join his love, he thought bitterly. There was a polite knock on his open bedroom door that made Draco laugh. _A polite intruder, how strange._

“Malfoy?” came Henry’s familiar voice. Draco stared at the ceiling.

“How did you get in here?” Draco asked. The question lacked the bite he supposed it should have given the situation. He had almost _resigned_ himself to the idea that Henry was, if not Potter reincarnated, and if not Potter’s doppelgänger, certainly he seemed to be _enough_ like the other man that he possessed Harry’s obsessive tendencies, total disregard for rules, and above all, Gryffindorish obsession with taking care of others. Especially Draco, much to his dismay. He was sure he was cracking. He didn't even believe in reincarnation and yet, how many times had Harry survived death by age twenty? Was it really so hard to believe? 

Henry scratched the back of his neck, as he pulled a wand from his pocket, and Draco nodded. “So you are a wizard then.” Henry stepped into the room and stood over Draco. From his spot on the bed, Draco could almost see the other man’s abs through his t-shirt, and he swallowed hard. _Fuck me running._

“You don’t have a reflection,” Henry said.

Draco nodded. “Vampires usually don’t.”

“Shit,” Henry said. Draco smirked. “Can you like… smell my blood?” he asked. Draco swallowed hard and nodded. “What does it smell like?” he asked. Draco almost laughed. It was such a Potter question and his heart clenched, he could feel the cold tears rising to his eyes before he could stop them. In an instant, Henry had sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed Draco, holding him. “I’m sorry, was that the wrong thing to ask?” he said. Draco shook his head, and stared up at the brunette, his emerald eyes held so much promise and hope and Draco wanted… _needed_ to kiss him again. To taste him, to feel him all over.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Draco asked. Henry nodded.

“It’s all real.” Henry eyed him dubiously.

“James and Drake… was about me and my husband,” he said. “His name was Harry Potter.” Henry merely eyed him, apparently the story hadn’t quite reached America. “We were enemies in school but _gods,_ did I always love him. When I turned… he was a healer, and we...” he paused, his tears flowing more freely now. “We fell in love. And he wanted me to turn him too but… I couldn’t. He had watched so many people he loved died, and I knew he felt so guilty for it, and I just…” he shook his head, as Henry held him tight, and rocked him back and forth.

“It’s okay,” he promised.

“It’s not,” Draco sobbed as he pulled away. “Don’t you see. It’s not. Because it’s you.” he wiped his eyes, “He died. Twenty-five years ago. And every day I have thought of him, and I’ve begged the gods every god in existence to bring him back to me. And here you are.”

“Draco you’re not making any sense.”

Draco sighed. “I know I sound crazy but you look. Exactly like him. You sound like him, you even smell like him, and your heart… your heart… did you know no two hearts sound the same? Most people don’t know that. But it’s true. But your heart even beats the same.”

Henry stared slack-jawed at Draco, and the blond knew he’d said too much. “Shit, I’m… fuck!” he yelled falling back into his pillows, _certain_ he was in hell. “My kingdom for a stake to the heart,” Draco said smacking his chest with his fist for emphasis.

Henry looked at him, “Don’t say that!” he said and before Draco knew what was happening the brunette had climbed on top of him and pressed their lips together once again.

Draco gasped, “Henry I…” the brunette shook his head and whispered into Draco’s ear.

“Harry, remember?” he said. Draco stared into the emerald eyes of his only love, and let himself fall.

“Harry,” he whispered. The brunette smiled and kissed him deeply once again.

Harry’s blood was just as delicious as Draco had remembered, even more so, because it was still fresh and new in a way Draco hadn’t tasted in _decades._ He sighed contentedly as the brunette lounged in his bed, sated as the two stared at the ceiling.

“So were you just trying to humor me to get me into bed?” Draco asked, his nervousness suddenly getting the better of him. He _was_ dealing with an actor after all, and it occurred to him, too late that perhaps Henry didn’t believe he was Draco’s husband. Hell, _Draco_ barely believed it was possible.

The brunette thought for a long moment, “No. I wasn’t just trying to humor you,” he said. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I desperately wanted to fuck you, and have you drink my blood… and I don’t know if I believe in past lives and stuff, but… there’s something about you Malfoy. I can’t put my finger on it. You just feel so… inevitable, you know?”

Draco snorted.

“Harry said the same thing, in our wedding vows,” Draco said as he fingered the wedding ring he’d never taken off in all this time. Henry smiled and Draco felt his heart sing.

“That certainly sounds like me,” the brunette said with a smirk as he kissed Draco’s lips softly. Draco sighed contentedly.

For the remainder of filming, Draco did considerably better. How could he not? What with his acting practice with Henry on a near constant basis. He’d almost slipped into calling the other man Harry on more than one occasion, which always earned him a small reassuring smile, and a kiss on his cheek.

Draco hadn’t felt so light in ages. In an odd sort of way, it was like he was getting to start over with his own husband. Or at least, _proving_ how much he already knew. As it turned out, Henry and Harry were more alike than even Draco had thought possible. Their favorite color: Silver, after Draco's eyes. Their favorite Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies, their favorite food: Treacle Tart. Henry had even been a hat stall, between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

“Funny since I wasn’t there to make you not want to be in Slytherin,” Draco said. Henry merely smirked.

“I’m certain if I had known you I would have happily been a Slytherin,” Henry said.

“No. You definitely knew me, and you definitely didn’t want to be a Slytherin,” Draco said. Henry nodded, as he curled up against Draco’s side. It was well past midnight.

“Tell me more about us. When we were young.” Henry said.

Draco smiled. “Well, we met when we were 11, at Madam Malkins. I was a right prat trying to make a friend, and you were not having it,” Draco laughed. Henry smiled, as Draco continued, and quickly Henry fell fast asleep.

Draco smiled down at him, carding his fingers through the impossibly messy mop of black hair. “Oh, Harry. I should have known you’d find a way back to me,” he whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly I found this chapter almost 'more' heartbreaking than when Harry died tbh. Draco wants so badly to remain faithful to his husband's memory.


	6. a new you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this I did run into, not necessarily a plot hole so much as an existential question about how much our choices and past effects who we are as human beings. It occurred to me that much of what we understand about the relationship between Harry and Draco exists because of things that have already happened to them. If Harry were to be brought back as another person who didn't grow up with Draco as his enemy, who didn't fight a Dark Lord and maybe even didn't live with the Dursley's, would that Harry really be Draco's Harry?  
> I tried to deal with that here as best I could.  
> Also originally this was only 5 chapters but there will be one more after this one.

 Sixty-six years passed like a dream.

Harry (Henry refused to be referred to as anything else) had reached his ninetieth birthday, far faster than Draco would have liked. It had been a whirlwind romance, married in their thirties, and Draco being forced to fake his own death (at the recommendation of MACUSA) when at forty he still hadn’t aged a bit. The two had snuck away to Napa Valley, where they had bought a vineyard, or rather, Harry had bought a vineyard. As far as the muggles knew, Harry was in mourning after the tragic death of his husband and had left Hollywood for good in search of his new life in the country. Unlike the previous Harry, Henry didn’t mind that Draco was not particularly interested in having children, and the two had spent their days, lounging in the company of one another, as the ravages of time took their toll.

All too soon, and frankly much too soon for Draco’s liking, Harry had reached 90, and as before his health had begun to decline. Draco felt his heart clench as history seemed determined to repeat itself.

Harry smiled up at his husband, as he lay beside him in their bed, “We don’t have much time left my love,” he said. Draco frowned down at him. He had hoped that it would be easier the second time around. Easier knowing that somehow, against all odds, Harry would always find his way back to him. But it wasn’t.

“I know,” Draco whispered.

“You know I’ll find you again,” Harry promised. Draco nodded, he had no doubt in his mind that Harry would find him forever if necessary, but it didn't make it easier. With that, he heard Harry’s last heart beat. Draco closed his eyes and curled up against Harry’s body, letting the tears wrack over him as he clutched his husband’s emerald cardigan. Whatever Harry and Henry may have had in common, the love of cardigans was pure Henry. Draco sighed, as he kissed his husband’s forehead, and apparated away.

Malfoy Manor was just as Draco had left it. Impeccably well kept up by a new breed of house elves, who were paid handsomely from the Malfoy vault at Gringotts. The furniture was just as stuffy as ever, Draco noted as he appeared inside the drawing room, and yet… even after all these years, Malfoy Manor still felt like home. In a way that no other place ever could.

The months dragged on, unceasingly. Months dragged on into years, and into a full decade since the second death of Harry Potter-Malfoy. For a brief moment after his death, Draco had wondered if he hadn’t simply convinced himself that Henry was his reincarnated husband. If he had simply convinced Henry that he was Harry Potter, that their similarities, numerous though they were, had deluded them into thinking that it was possible. That Harry _could_ return, seemingly infinitely, until the end of time.

It was a reoccurring walking nightmare that Draco seemed to play over in his mind that Henry had _not_ in fact been Harry. But that a young man in love had been so eager to believe the ramblings of a depressed hundred-year-old vampire that he’d somehow even managed to make _himself_ believe that it was true. His childhood was, Draco had noted, remarkably absent of dark lords, basilisks, even his own presence in Henry’s childhood was absent, meaning that time was not cyclical as the best magical experts on the subject often believed. Trends were often cyclical, and history had a bad habit on occasion of repeating itself, and yet, there had never been a second coming of the Dark Lord, or at least, not yet, there hadn’t. This had been the biggest shadow of doubt cast on Draco’s belief that Henry really was Harry. For how _could_ he be Harry without surviving the killing curse twice at the hands of a madman? How _could_ they be Harry and Draco without their shared dark past?

Of course, Draco had known this was ridiculous. Harry wasn’t Harry because of the Dark Lord, or the killing curse, or any of that. Harry was Harry because of who he was, fundamentally as a person. The person who would run into harm's way to save someone he cared about. Who didn’t think twice about giving Draco the last piece of pizza, or giving up his jacket in a blizzard. Harry was the man who gave all of himself to those he loved, especially Draco, and that part of him had existed, with or without the original Harry’s dark past. Some things, it seemed were just eternal traits of the Gryffindor who lived and lived and lived.

Nineteen years after Harry’s second death, Draco had found himself growing tired of Wiltshire again. Draco hadn’t really bothered with friends, hadn’t bothered getting to know his great great great grandchildren, and he was beginning to feel lonely. Which was how Draco found himself in Paris two years later and the new head of the Potions department for Beauxbatons.

It was nearing September when Draco arrived at the school for the first staff meeting. Draco was eager to meet his fellow teachers.

“Welcome to Beauxbatons,” said Madame Audré, the latest head of the school. She was a lovely pale blonde haired woman, who Draco suspected of veela heritage, given her looks. Actually, she could have passed for a Malfoy, Draco thought, absently, as he was shown around the school grounds. It was beautiful, Draco thought, but it was no Hogwarts. Still, he had been drawn to this place, and Draco had long since learned not to question his instincts when they told him to move. It was, after all, this very thinking that had led him to meet Henry in California.

As the group sat down at the large staff table in Madame Audré’s office, Draco found himself seated next to a familiar mop of shaggy black hair. Draco smiled to himself, “Took you long enough Potter,” he said. The black haired man turned to face Draco.

“Pardon?” he said.

Draco merely smiled, “Pardonne-moi, je pensais à voix haute,” Draco said in perfect French. The man merely smiled, his emerald eyes twinkling at Draco, and Draco knew he was lost in those eyes.

“Henrì,” the man said extending his hand to Draco. Draco took it with a smile.

“Draco,” he replied.

“What a lovely name, for a lovely man,” Henrì said and kissed the back of Draco’s hand. Draco blushed scarlet.

As ever, this Harry was charming, gorgeous, and obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Draco grinned.

Draco didn't bother to hide his obvious flirting this time around, nor does he bother to pretend as though he’s above falling almost immediately into bed with the man the moment he offers. Twenty-one years is a long time to wait to get laid, Draco thinks, though it’s worth it because Harry always remembers his weaknesses, and the taste of his blood on Draco’s lips is as ever sweet perfection.

Once again, his life felt whole.

Qudditch was not nearly as popular in France as it was in Britain, Draco learned, but Henrì is as ever _his_ Harry and is absolutely obsessed with the game.

“Would you like to play a seekers match?” he asked, one afternoon in early October. Draco grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a broom, he realized. He and Harry (the original) had often played, but the second time around, Harry hadn’t remembered their rivalry, having not grown up with it, so he didn’t have the drive to compete with Draco in that way.

“Love to,” Draco said as Henrì handed him a broom. Draco grinned as the two mounted their brooms, and took off into the air, the snitch on a timed release from below. Draco reveled in the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair as he flew, and he sighed happily.

Life was sweet, perfect, everything was moving right on schedule, and then it happened. Fate, ever the cruel mistress had decided to throw a curveball at Draco Malfoy.

Henrì’s broom bucked suddenly and swept out from under him. They were several hundred feet off the ground now. Draco screamed.

“HARRY!” he whipped out his wand, the spell on his lips when the wand flew out of his hand and dropped to the ground. Draco raced after the man as he hurtled toward the ground. Faster and faster, Draco pushed, his body tensed. He _had_ to make it. He _had to save him,_ Draco thought. _It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

But it was too late.

With a loud sickening crunch, Henrì landed on the ground, his body contorted into an odd shape, as Draco merely screamed. Bloody tears streamed down his face as he landed beside the man and begged for help, though he knew there was nothing he could do.

Draco knew he could no longer do this.

 _It isn’t fair,_ his mind screamed, as he collapsed at the man's side.

_We were supposed to get more time!_

A jagged piece of Henrì’s broom lay several feet from him, beckoning to him. Draco stared at the piece of wood, _just one shot and it’s done_ , he thought and crawled towards it. Several screams interrupt Draco’s inner monologue, but somewhere in the back of his mind as he clutched the broken wood in his hands, Draco can hear Harry’s voice call out to him. _It’s okay love. I’m right here._

Draco gripped the piece of wood tighter, as tears streamed down his face.

“H—Harry?” He can almost feel the man’s arms wrapped around him, as his words echo in his mind. _I’ve got you. Everything is going to be okay._ “Harry I’m so scared and so lonely,” he sobbed.

Lifting his arm, Draco stabbed the shard of wood into his chest.

Searing pain wracked through his body, _I love you,_ he thought, as the world turned to blackness around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering Draco says: Pardon me, I thought aloud.


	7. epilogue

The surrounding darkness that had consumed him was quickly replaced by a bright blinding light, that made Draco’s head swim. Squinting his eyes open against the ungodly brightness, he looked around and nearly screamed. He was in St. Mungos! He would know that godawful tile anywhere. Draco looked up to find Harry Potter standing over him, his worried emerald eyes staring down at him. Draco beamed.

“Oh thank god, I’ve missed you!” he said, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry laughed.

“You have?” he said, his words muffled by Draco’s shoulder.

“What year is it?” Draco asked stupidly.

“2007,” Harry replied. “Are you alright?”

Draco smiled, “I’m better than alright,” he said, as he grabbed Harry’s hand and placed it over his chest. “Feel that?”

“Your… heartbeat?” Harry asked, confused.

“Exactly! It’s beating! My heart’s beating!” Draco felt as though he were floating on cloud nine. Harry merely laughed at his antics.

“Yes they tend to do that,” Harry merely said. Draco shook his head.

“No no Harry you don’t understand. I died. I mean… I was a vampire… and you were there. We were married, and we adopted children… and then, and then you died. But you came back to me. You always came back to me,” Draco sighed dreamily. Harry merely stared at him.

“Married, and children?”

Draco nodded, “Oh Harry. But I want lots of them. I wanna be pregnant with twenty of your babies. A hundred of your babies! I want a house full of them! I want us to grow old together at the same time, and for us to die together, and…” Harry’s eyes widened.

“Slow down there… should we, I don’t know, start with a first date?” Harry asked, scratching the back of his neck.

Draco merely smiled, “You know I always find it cute when you do that.”

“Er… do what?” Harry asked.

“That thing where you scratch the back of your neck when you’re nervous.”

“You noticed that have you?”

“Well after two hundred years, a man starts to recognize traits in his husband.”

“Two hundred years huh? Boy, that spell you took for Ron must have really been a doozy,” he said.

Draco frowned. “I’m not cracked,” he hissed.

“I never said you were,” Harry replied.

“No, but you’re giving me that pitting look, poor Malfoy he’s finally gone round the bend. Well, I haven’t!” he snapped. “I’m just as sane as you are.” Harry raised an eyebrow at that but decided not to argue. “It all felt so real,” he said so quietly that Harry wasn’t sure he had heard it at first.

“You being a vampire?”

“All of it. Us, the vampire thing, our whole lives felt so tangible,” he sighed. Harry nodded.

“Well, the good news is, the spell they hit you with didn’t work. Assuming its goal _was_ to make you a vampire. I’d like to have a mind healer come and check on you, but my guess is while you were in a coma for the last week and a half, your mind occupied itself with an estimation of what it was that group was trying to do. Still, you should be proud of yourself. You taking that hit for Ron allowed them to capture the rest of the wizards and send them to Azkaban. As well as free the caged vampires.”

“Is the Ministry offering me an Order of Merlin?” Draco asked. Harry raised an eyebrow at that.

“No. If _I_ didn’t get one for killing Voldemort, you certainly don’t for taking a spell that did nothing besides make you sleep for a week,” Harry said sarcastically, though Draco noticed the smirk pulling at his lips. Draco frowned.

“I would have told them to stuff it anyway,” Draco replied.

“Of course you would,” Harry shook his head.

“Harry,” Draco said after a moment. Harry looked up at him. “After I’m discharged would you… like to go for coffee?”

Harry gave him a look, that suddenly made Draco very nervous, “I don’t make it a habit of going out with patients… but, I think this time I can make an exception.”

Draco beamed brilliantly at him, and Harry _knew_ he was fucked. Well and truly fucked, for how could he ever resist that face?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So if you know anything about Treacle's original Tumblr post you know that this was not the ending that was foretold. But I hope she will appreciate why I just couldn't leave our boys forever trapped in this world.  
> Realistically the story could have gone on forever, but I had to put a stop to it somewhere. Every time he loses Harry it's another devastating blow and I decided that I had to give it some hope at the end. I hope you enjoyed this. In all, its devastating glory.


End file.
